


Bourbon and Barfloors

by heartinhand221 (Illusinia)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 08:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6899476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illusinia/pseuds/heartinhand221
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Drowning your sorrows in bourbon doesn’t help.”</p><p>Grant’s shoulders stiffened as that soft, luxurious voice crawled through his ears. He knew that voice- he’d know it anywhere. No one could forget the voice of Natasha Romanoff. It was like warm honey when she wanted something and like ice when she was done with you. It could be the stuff of dreams or nightmares.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha Romanov visits with Grant shortly after Kara's death and finds him in the bar in Boston. What transpires is not in any S.H.I.E.L.D. handbook.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bourbon and Barfloors

**Author's Note:**

> This was a birthday gift for a friend of mine.
> 
> Also, I apologize for the title. I had no idea what to call it.

The world was starting to swim, but it was very hard for Ward to care. The image of Kara from before Hydra got their hands on her stared up at him from the bar top, guarded but not yet damaged like the woman he’d lost had been. She’d been beautiful and, not for the first time, he regretted allowing Coulson to drag him back in. Regretted allowing her to be dragged back in with him. SHIELD was a monster that wouldn’t let people go once they were in. Ever. Only death could free someone from SHIELD’s clutches and Coulson was living proof even death wasn’t a sure-fire escape. At least Kara was free now, even if he had to lose her in the process. He’d make SHIELD pay for that, too. Make them suffer for taking one of the only people who could understand him away.

“Drowning your sorrows in bourbon doesn’t help.”

Grant’s shoulders stiffened as that soft, luxurious voice crawled through his ears. He knew that voice- he’d know it anywhere. No one could forget the voice of Natasha Romanoff. It was like warm honey when she wanted something and like ice when she was done with you. It could be the stuff of dreams or nightmares.

They’d actually had a thing once, not long after he’d become an Agent. It had started during an assignment, kept the whole thing from going sideways. After that assignment, they’d continued for about half a year before assignments and other work began to intervene. He had to admit, he’d fallen for her for a while. She had the ability to make any man feel special if she wanted him to. He missed it; missed being under her stare and under her power. It had been fantastic. Too bad they were on opposite sides at this point.

“You should be running,” continued Natasha, her breath brushing over his ear. He could feel the slight brush of her fingertips against his back as she passed, dropping neatly onto the stool beside him. He should run. He needed to run. She was probably distracting him so Coulson or someone else could sweep in and nab him. Throw him back in that vault. “It would be the smart thing to do.”

“What, are you going to throw me in jail if I don’t?” mocked Grant with a sidelong glance, taking another sip of his bourbon. It burned a little as it slid down his throat, but the burn was a comfortable one. It helped keep him grounded in the now and kept him from becoming lost in his thoughts. “News flash, been there and done that.”

Natasha just hummed and waved down the bartender, gesturing for a glass of the same. It was in front of her in less than thirty seconds. Immediately, she took a sip, humming in approval as she set the glass aside. “You’ve graduated to quality bourbon. I approve.”

“Glad I could earn your approval,” scoffed Grant, opting to do his best to ignore the female assassin. Obviously, she wasn’t planning to explain herself and he frankly didn’t care. Even if SHIELD agents came bursting through the door, he knew he could get out. He was a survivor; he’d find a way.

Idly, his fingers drifted back over the image of Kara he’d been handling before. Her face, smiling, happy, stared back at him. It was a face he’d never gotten to know, and it bothered him more than he expected it to. Maybe he’d somehow hoped that she’d recover and he’d get to meet that side of her someday. It was a foolish idea; he was proof that broken people never heal. She’d given him hope that he could recover someday though. Except now, he’d never know if that was true or not.

“She’s beautiful,” remarked Natasha, her voice humming slightly. Her fingers slipped over the back of his hand, brushing his fingers as her flesh curled around them. “What happened, exactly?”

He glanced at her hand covering his own, mind briefly flashing back to a time when that would have been the start of something. When her hand would have slid up his arm, down his back. Days that were just a memory now. “SHIELD attacked the base we were staying in. We went to confront them and Kara used the mask embedded in her skin to turn into a May look-alike.” The familiar pain came back full force, like a punch to the gut. His voice was softer when he continued, rougher. “I thought she was May.”

“And you shot her,” surmised Natasha, nodding slowly as she fiddled with her glass of bourbon. “You believed she was an enemy and made a mistake.”

“It wouldn’t have happened if they hadn’t come after us,” growled Grant, his hand tightening around his bourbon glass. “If they hadn’t come after us, I never would have thought May had infiltrated the base or mistaken Kara for her.”

“And if you hadn’t taken Agent Morse, they wouldn’t have come after you,” reasoned Natasha mildly, her voice holding that knowing tone Grant hated. It didn’t matter who used it, he just hated the tone. It always meant someone knew something he didn’t. And when someone knew something he didn’t, it was never good for him.

“If Coulson hadn’t dragged us back in, we wouldn’t have taken Agent Morse,” rationalized Grant with a scowl, his eyes narrowing on Natasha. “If we hadn’t been dragged back in, we wouldn’t have decided to do what we did. Coulson wasn’t going to let us go, so he may as well come after us for something he deserved to come after us for.”

“Morse said it was about revenge for Kara,” remarked Natasha, finally taking a sip of her drink. “I was under the impression you weren’t the vengeful type. You seemed to step away from most jobs pretty easily.”

Grant was silent for a moment. Was he vengeful? On some level, yes, he was. He’d burned Christian’s and his parents’ bodies in a house. Of course, he’d shot them all first. Making them suffer would have been nice after the shit they put him through as a child, including Christian trying to burn down the house with him and Thomas inside. If he’d left them to burn though, there was a chance they could get free and Garrett had taught him to leave nothing to chance. Be efficient, don’t let your anger blind you. Repress everything. No one was innocent. He wasn’t sure about the last one, but the first two were definitely lessons that had proven accurate time and again.

“Most jobs were for SHIELD,” stated Grant at last, taking a gulp of his bourbon to wash the bitter taste of his words from his mouth. “Those weren’t personal, Kara’s situation was.”

“And torturing Morse was supposed to make her feel better?” pressed Natasha, her voice almost mocking. “I’m nearly positive that wouldn’t have helped her forget what happened.”

“It wasn’t about forgetting, it was about giving her peace of mind that she was safe,” growled Grant, his eyes narrowing at the redhead. “It was about giving her the chance to sleep at night.”

“So why not just kill Morse?” countered Natasha, her voice smooth and calm. Rational. “Why go through this whole ruse of torturing her?”

“Because we needed to know we had the right person,” stated Grant, his voice going low as his fingers tightened around his glass. “We needed to know the person we were going to kill was the one we needed to. We needed her to confess, to confirm it was her that had given up Kara. Kara needed…” His voice trailed off as he thought about the plan he’d intended to execute. It had been more than needing a confession; Kara had needed an apology. It wouldn’t have fixed anything, but she needed someone to take responsibility for what had been done to her. Whitehall was dead and so was Bakshi, so Morse had been the next best source for that.

“Because she needed what?” asked Natasha softly, her voice dropping to almost a soft lull. “An apology?”

“Kara needed someone to take responsibility for what had been done to her,” replied Grant at last, blowing out a heavy breath. “They fucked with her brain. Hydra wiped away the woman she had been, and she needed to know it wasn’t her fault. She needed to know it had nothing to do with her.”

“Kara was blaming herself for what happened,” murmured Natasha in a way that said she knew the feeling. That she knew the self-blame and regret that came from being brainwashed. “You wanted to show her that it wasn’t her fault.”

The next part was out of Grant’s mouth before he could stop it. It was so deeply personal, that he probably shouldn’t have admitted it to anyone. In the face of Kara’s death though, sitting beside a woman who’d gone through something similar once before if her records were to be believed, it felt like she might be the only other person on the planet that could understand. ”She woke up screaming in the dead of night, begging people not to take her away or to stop. I sat there every night and comforted her when she woke up screaming. I helped lull her back to sleep. I thought- I thought Morse apologizing might help. We were going to kill her anyway; keeping her alive until we could coax a confession and an apology out of her didn’t seem like a risk. She admitted she gave up the base, but insisted she didn’t know it was occupied. Tried to justify what was done to Kara. Tried to make up excuses for why she didn’t even bother trying to save her.”

“Did you ever think that maybe she couldn’t?” prompted Natasha calmly, a voice of reason and calm against the angry, depressed mass residing in his chest. “She was protecting a lot of people. It might have been that she tried, but ultimately wasn’t able to do it.”

“She saved Simmons,” pointed out Grant with a growl. “Hell, I bet she was in there just to protect Simmons. It’s the kind of bullshit Coulson would pull. Steamroll everyone else for his people, doesn’t matter if they’re on the same side or not.”

“That is a completely unfair assessment of the man,” stated Natasha, her voice turning defensive for the first time in their discussion. “I know you’re angry with him, and I can understand your frustration, but Coulson doesn’t operate that way. He wouldn’t have saved Clint or me if he did.”

“Or he was thinking with the wrong head,” snarked Grant, the idea of Coulson making decisions based on lust amusing for half a second. At least with Natasha, he understood. He’d yet to meet a woman who was as hot as her. Barton, well, that was an image he didn’t need in his head.

The sensation of his face suddenly hitting the bar surprised him. That he just missed his glass said a lot about how Natasha was feeling though; if she were truly angry, there would be glass in his skin. One hand, no longer light and delicate, pressed against the back of his neck, tightening his throat without cutting off his air. The other found its way to a pressure point in his shoulder, disabling the arm closest to where she was standing just to his left. Well, clearly he’d hit a nerve. 

“I suggest you quit while you’re ahead.” Her breath ghosted against the shell of his ear, nearly making his shiver. If he weren’t probably a little drunk and if she wasn’t pinning him to a bar in a way that was definitely not comfortable, he probably would have had some physical reaction to her. “Your angry with Coulson right now, and I can understand that. I think your anger is misplaced and stemming from a large amount of hurt and guilt, but I understand your anger all the same. However, I do still respect Agent Coulson and I will not stand idly by while you slam his character and suggest he recovered Agent Barton and I for any reason other than our skill sets. It’s an insult to both of us.”

“Oh, you both belong with SHIELD or, well, someone,” assured Grant, wincing a little as the fingers at his throat tightened some. One of his feet shifted, giving him a better balance base. Exactly what he need to turn the tables. “I have no doubt about that.” 

Hoping what he was about to try would work, Grant shifted his hips hard backwards and to the side, straight into Natasha. The hands on his neck and shoulder didn’t release with the move, but he felt her balance shift slightly and he took that split second opportunity to shove backwards from the bar with his free arm and drop one leg out so his body jerked hard down and to the right- the same side as the shoulder she was gripping. She was forced to either release him or be pulled down. She released him.

In an instant, he grabbed her knees and pulled forward, his arms locking around her legs and dropping her backwards onto the ground. She hit with an ‘omph!’ and he half jumped on top of her. His hips settled against hers and his hands immediately found her wrists, pinning her down. Or, well, theoretically pinning her. This was the black widow, she could probably break any hold he put her in. That he’d even managed to get on top of her was probably because she wanted him there, not because of any particular skill he had.

“Having fun?” asked Natasha, smirking slightly at him and yep, she wanted him there. Otherwise he would have been on the ground beside her already. “It’s not often you’re on top.”

“Happens more than you’d think,” growled Grant, her taunt driving his frustration and anger to the forefront. It crawled under his skin, mixing with the despair over losing Kara and lingering desire for the woman beneath him. It was a potent combination that hit him like a blow to the gut.

Without thought, he slammed his lips into hers. It was a bad idea and he knew it. Hell, she’d probably gut him for it. Right then though, he didn’t care. His chest hurt. Everything hurt. He’d failed Kara; lost the one person who had believed him. The one person who’d trusted him completely. The Black Widow could beat the crap out of him, and he wouldn’t care. It might even distract him from some of the pain.

He expected her to struggle or fight; expected a blow to the stomach or to be flipped on his back with her hand at his throat. He didn’t expect her to push back against his lips. Reciprocation had never crossed his mind. But that was precisely what she did; she kissed him back.

It was just as brutal and forceful as his own kiss had been, a challenge to his authority or even right to act like he had. He wasn’t surprised when one of his hands suddenly hit flat ground half a second later and he felt small fingers grip his hair rather forcefully. It wasn’t to pull him off her though; it was to pull him closer.

He kissed her until his lungs burned, his hands remaining off her body save where one held her wrist down. She might have allowed him to kiss her, but he would lose something if he touched her without her express permission and, if she wasn’t going to beat him into a pulp, he wanted to keep all of his fingers.

As he pulled back faintly, he expected vitriol or profanities. Instead, she gave him a moment to catch his breath before pulling him back down to her again. Her lips parted under his, teeth catching and nipping at his lower lip. It would have almost been playful if the hand in his hair hadn’t scraped down against the back of his neck. He didn’t really care though; she could leave marks.

It was her that pulled away the second time, followed immediately by her flipping them over so he was the one against the floor. Her delicate fingers slid around his throat, not pressing against his flesh but dancing over it. The danger of allowing her hands so close to his throat sent a chill down his spine, ramping his desire for her up another notch.

“Are you actually going to fuck me or are we going to kiss like teenagers all night?” Her fingers twitched with each word, dancing up and down the sides of his throat. It was dangerous and for some reason turning him on. Maybe he was losing it.

“I’m game if you are,” stated Grant, thrusting his hips upwards. His half-hard dick twitched at the contact, particularly when her hips pressed down against his. “I’m not sure Coulson would approve though.”

“Coulson doesn’t control what I do or who I sleep with,” stated Natasha simply before her hands slid to the collar of his shirt. She didn’t hesitate to tear the fabric in two, the ripping sound and brush of cold air against his skin making him harder. The smirk that crossed her face as she stared down at his naked chest was enough to make him fully hard. “Still shaving I see.”

“Tact suits go on easier,” explained Grant, his hands rising to rest on her thighs. Those dangerous, dangerous thighs. He still remembered the first time he ate her out. The press of her legs against the side of his head was both terrifying and thrilling, particularly knowing she could break his neck with a simple twist of her body if she felt like it. He should really do that at some point in this encounter. Watching her fall apart at the mercy of his hands and tongue was always gratifying.

“I don’t see you wearing many of those in the future,” remarked Natasha, her fingers gliding across his chest. One nail scrapped slightly down the center of his chest, tracing his muscles as it moved across his skin. “Then again, you might keep it up. Women don’t mind a-” Her words cut off into a moan, the nail sliding lightly over his chest suddenly leaving his skin as his thumbs pressed against the apex of her thighs. Both of her palms hit the wood to either side of his head, her eyes level with his. “Not playing around I see.”

“I want to fuck you,” stated Grant, his thumbs stroking along the edges of her slit through her pants. He hadn’t noticed she was wearing leggings when she walked in, but he couldn’t complain. Thinner material, better access. Part of him wanted to tease her through the material, but he didn’t have the patience for that. Teasing was what lovers did. They were enemies about to have sex.

Natasha chuckled faintly, the fingers beside his head curling against the floor of the bar. “You said that already.”

Grant growled faintly, his fingers sliding up to her hips before he flipped them again. Almost immediately, his fingers hooked into her waistband, tugging downward so he could drag both her pants and her underwear clear of her body. She lifted her hips to assist him, her legs locking around his shoulders as soon as they were free of her clothes. He didn’t hesitate to take the invitation.

Grabbing her hips, he buried his face between her legs, his tongue tracing the edges of her slit as he gazed down her body at her face. Her head fell backwards when he flicked her clit before sealing his lips around the small bud and sucking. The pleased hum he got in response made him smirk. One of his hands left her hip, a finger tracing her entrance before he plunged it into her body. She jerked slightly at the intrusion, but gave no indication she wanted him to stop. He took that as a sign to continue. Slowly, he slid his finger nearly all the way out of her body before he plunged it back in and ran his finger against her upper wall. He repeated that motion, watching as Natasha shook and moaned beneath him. 

“I’m going to make you scream,” promised Grant, his tongue circling her clit.

“That’s what you think,” moaned Natasha before she did something that landed him on his back again. Her legs pinned his shoulders down, legs spread open in front of him. For half a second, he considered objecting. Then Natasha’s hand was somehow in his pants before he could blink, fingers wrapped around his cock firmly. Any thoughts he had of teasing her went out the window as she slowly dragged her hand up his cock, twisting her wrist as she reached his tip and flicking a fingertip against his slit. “Still think you can make me scream?”

“Done it before,” gasped Grant before he dragged her hips back to his mouth and ran his tongue up her slit. She let out a happy hum, grinding her hips against his mouth in response. Not one to disappoint, Grant held her hips firmly in place and focused what attention he could manage to muster on eating her out. He dragged his tongue from her entrance to her clit, circling there before repeating the motion again and again.

Natasha was shaking when she yanked her hips away with a growl, grasping his cock and impaling herself on him before he could register what she was doing. “I thought you said you wanted to fuck me.”

Grant’s hips shot up in response, grinding against her body as she tightened around him and drew a groan from his throat. Fuck.

She began to move up and down rapidly, her back straight as she rode his cock. His hands grabbed at her hips, helping guide her movements. He ground up each time she impaled herself, one of his thumbs slipping between her folds to rub at her clit again. Above him, Natasha shuttered and fell apart with a groan.

Immediately, he flipped them around so Natasha was pressed into the floor, shifting her hips and sliding deeper into her body. Beneath him, Natasha hummed happily, her knees rising on either side of his hips. From his new position, his eyes fell to her breasts, one hand slipping under her back to raise her upper body. His lips pressed to the top of her breast, tracing her bra through her shirt as his hips began to rock into hers. It was too soft, too sweet, but he couldn’t bring himself to be rough either. On some level, he needed this. Needed a few moments to feel human again.

Natasha shifted slightly, pressing up against his lips momentarily before the fabric beneath his mouth disappeared and his lips met warm flesh. He growled slightly against her skin, catching the edge of her bra with his teeth and dragging it aside to reveal one of her nipples. His lips brushed against the peak momentarily before they surrounded it, sucking softly in time with his thrusts.

He could feel her body gripping his, her muscles trying to draw him in further. The fluttering grip became faster the closer she came to completion. He didn’t even blink as he switched to her other nipple, his thumb once again finding her clit, tracing the small bundle of nerves until she shattered once more. This time, it was enough to send him over the edge as well.

Everything faded out for a moment, the world around them becoming a dull hum. His focus was solely on her: on the way her body was still gripping his with each aftershock, the way her hands had found their way into his hair and currently held his head to her chest, and the way her legs held his hips in place against hers. They were both panting, the world easing back into focus.

He half expected the door to burst open as they lay there panting, Coulson storming in to arrest him in the aftermath of their tryst. Silence echoed through the space though, almost as loud as any pair of pounding boots. It was only a moment more before Natasha was rolling them over so she was on top once again, disentangling herself from him and standing to straighten her clothes. He knew he should do the same, but just couldn’t bring himself to care. His muscles still felt like jelly and moving sounded like a bigger pain in the ass than it was worth unless it was completely necessary.

“You should dress,” advised Natasha, her own clothing straight once more as she bent to retrieve her shoes. “No one followed me here, but you are a wanted man. You don’t know who could be around the corner.”

“You’re not bringing me in, then,” remarked Grant, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Carefully, he eased himself up off the ground and began to tug his clothing back into place. She was right; he needed to move.

“No, I came to check on you,” stated Natasha simply, her shoes back on her feet. She didn’t move though, instead opting to stand by and watch him as he dressed. “I was hoping I could talk you out of doing something stupid. Somehow though, I suspect that’s a firm no.”

“Kara is dead and someone needs to pay,” growled Grant as he tugged his jacket back on with more force than necessary.

Natasha nodded, though it was almost borderline sad. “The next time I see you, we will be on opposite sides. I can’t support you in this.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” replied Grant, grabbing his drink and downing what was left. It was mostly melted ice, but it helped sooth his dry throat. “This was the last time for us.”

“Yes,” confirmed Natasha with a nod. “Most likely.”

His lips pressed together as he considered what to say. How did he say goodbye to someone that would probably come back to try and kill him? Or maybe not, knowing her. No one could make Natasha do anything she didn’t want to, after all. As it turned out though, he didn’t have to decide how to handle this.

Natasha’s hand cupped his chin, tilting his head down before she suddenly pressed a firm kiss to his lips. It was passionate but sad all the same, a kiss goodbye, one last time. As she stepped back, he saw the same hint of sadness in her eyes. They met his unflinchingly. “Good luck, Grant.” Then she turned away and headed towards the door to the bar.

“Stay safe Natasha,” countered Grant as he dropped some money on the bar and headed towards the back door. He heard the front door ding before he’d reached his own exit; the last thing from his old life was gone. There was no turning back now.

Silently, he stepped into the snowy alley behind the bar, nodding at the Hydra men who stood there waiting for him. Looking to him for direction. He swirled his finger in the air once, the universal motion for wrapping things up. “Let’s move. We have work to do.”


End file.
